My Brother is Not Dead
by Wayfaring Snowflake
Summary: Mycroft reflects on what the greater population is calling the "Reichenbach Fall." His brother obviously isn't dead. He would never admit that to anyone. Will this be proven to be true?


~~Mycroft Holmes~~

He sat watching the idiots go through life after that day. The news reports. The tabloid articles. They were all idiots. Sherlock was going to hate it. Of course he wasn't dead. He was a Holmes. Holmes boys didn't die that easily. Of course he wasn't dead.

He went through the rest of that week with those ideas populating his thoughts. He was angry with his brother. Sherlock had soiled his reputation. Even the Crown had come to him and confronted him about his younger brother. The entire world thought that Sherlock Holmes had been a fake. A criminal. A fraud, built up on fake suspicion. He was brilliant, really, Sherlock. Though Mycroft himself would never admit it to him in person, Sherlock Holmes was a brilliant man. To be able to fake his own death on such a level as this, convincing the entire world of his death, took skill. It was a terrible, wonderful skill. But he wasn't dead. No, not really. No matter what John and Mrs. Hudson believed. Sherlock Holmes was not dead. Sherlock Holmes would not commit suicide in such an unceremonious manner.

With that, he texted the man. After that, though, he waited. He sat in his lounge in silence and waited for his phone to ring the reply. It didn't come, though. Not on this day, at least. The next day he text him again, but still no reply. The third day, no reply. The fourth day, still nothing. Every time his phone vibrated a message from Lestrade, or anyone else, he got overexcited, which wasn't like him. He wanted his little brother back now. This had been long enough. He was about to give up hope, though. His heart was dead. His little brother had killed himself. This was just something that he'd have to put up with.

Then his phone vibrated.

He didn't check it immediately. He assumed that it was Lestrade texting him early about dinner tonight. Since Sherlock had taken the Reichenbach Fall, as people were calling it, he had taken a liking to Gregory. He kept him company, where his impulse to bother Sherlock and gloat in his face had been before. All of that was gone, though. There was no point anymore. Not to any of it.

Then it vibrated again.

_Persistent little bugger tonight, _he thought, pulling out his phone. But then he dropped it in surprise. The sound of the phone hitting the floor rang out throughout the study, echoing and reverberating against the walls. When he picked it back up, he looked at the contact that was texting him again. Sherlock. He was shocked, of course, but all of his suspicions were confirmed with this. There had to be some reason as to why Sherlock had done this, and it was painfully obvious throughout his texts. See, Sherlock was a Sociopath, so he knew how people worked mentally. There was no knowledge of emotion in his head. Mycroft was different, though. He knew what had happened. John had been threatened. John had been living with Sarah lately, which was probably breaking Sherlock, but it was good for him. He needed to see that things could still go on without him. He tapped out a reply to Sherlock, smirking to himself.

Sherlock Holmes cared for someone. He cared about someone. A few people, actually. John. Mrs. Hudson. Greg. Of course, Mycroft himself hadn't been threatened because he was under government security. He had saved their lives by "taking" his own. Of course, this had ruined John. John had reverted back to his military persona, the psychosomatic limp even making itself known again. He was a military man at heart, but Sherlock Holmes had broken that part of him. Now, rather than the rest of the poor little man breaking, the military heart had just been stuck and pasted back together. He would crack one day, and if Sherlock didn't make himself known soon, John Watson may very well become the next James Moriarty of the world. He made this fact known to Sherlock and his brother denied it immediately, saying John didn't have that kind of power and mental well-being. I tapped, _Mental well-being isn't necessary for a serial killer, Sherlock, _then smirked and sent it.

He had finally done it. Sherlock Holmes had made the most idiotic mistake that he could have ever made. He had told the man who loved him most in the world, who had also thought him to be dead, that he was alive. This, in any other situation, would be fine, but John's fiancee was pregnant. Now she would be alone, whether John means it to happen that way or not. _This is why Sherlock Holmes should not be allowed to intervene in personal matters._


End file.
